Live to Venture (#0)

37 | The Formula of Adventure

"You, the blonde. You're first."

The woman she'd picked was quick to respond. She was fast, but she didn't have the ability to predict. Was Novari really faster than this woman? Perhaps not, but her reactions bordered on precognition, which called for an entirely different game.

Novari ducked a high kick and spun, driving her elbow into the back of the woman's neck. There was a crack, then the woman rolled to the ground, stunned.

"Tall boy," Novari said, nodding to the man to her left, "your turn."

Novari had picked an easy woman to start, to instill false confidence in the next challenger, who flexed his shoulders and lumbered towards her. Tall boy was easily the most talented on the crew, and he knew it.

Novari hooked her leg around both of his arms once he struck, driving him to the ground. He rolled to avoid, but she crouched beside him to stop him from moving onto his back. She pressed her knee into the curve of his neck.

Tall boy sputtered, unable to breathe for a few moments before he tapped. Novari lifted off and gave him a shove to clear the match space. She turned around, meeting an appropriate reaction from the crew. Tall boy was talented, and that was the first indicator of Novari not quite all talk.

She picked out one more talented man to embarrass before she glanced at the navigator. "Time?" she asked.

"Fifty-five seconds."

Novari rolled her shoulders. "Out of practice," she mumbled. Love had made her slow. Damn Seira for being right.

The man that Novari knew as Skinner stepped forward. "I'll have a go," he offered.

Novari glanced at him. She liked him.

Skinner was good—quick and strong, fast reactions with an attention to detail. Novari knocked him unconscious into the mast pole. She took out the next, then the next. One man, far too aggressive for the incompetent skill set he possessed, gave her a nasty cut on her cheek. Novari broke his nose for it, then shoved him away to focus on the next.

She gestured to the next one, some stubby girl. Novari spoke simply, without the aggression she felt burrowing in her bones, "I'll do this one time." She kicked the girl in the stomach. "One time, you get to touch me without repercussions." Stubby girl tapped. "The next time someone lays a finger on me, calls me the Avourienne girl, or makes any other clever jokes, you'll wish tapping was an option."

Crooked-teeth girl—Sheer—stepped forward, shouting across the deck, "I could care less if Slint lets you on board." The wind began to pick up, nearly drowning her next words, "You're forever the Avourienne girl to me."

She tossed Sheer her knife, and the strategist caught it. "You can use that, if you'd like," she offered. "Even the playing field."

Sheer threw the knife away, refusing to take the advantage. It embedded into the wooden rail behind Novari, who examined crooked-teeth-girl's form. She was one of those fighters that could be good, in theory, but she just didn't have the determination to work hard for it, to suffer for it.

"What's your name, love?" Novari asked.

Sheer stalked forward. "I wouldn't dream of telling you shit."

Novari grinned. "I'll have to guess, then." She ducked under the first hit. "It's Rhea, isn't it? Rhea Sheer?" She kicked her in the back of the knees, forcing her to the ground.

Rhea bared her teeth. "Lucky guess?" she sneered, spinning to rush again.

Novari stepped out of the way and tripped her, sending her spiralling into the deck. "Not exactly. Bardarian has a record of this crew."